


workin' on my fortnite moves

by infrarad



Category: Fortnite Squad - SNL Sketch, Star Wars - All Media Types
Genre: Couch Sex, Cunnilingus, Divorced Dad Ben Solo, F/M, Filth, Filth with Feels, Fingering, Plot What Plot, babysitter rey, brief roleplay, fortnite, learning is fun, pedagogy with porn, rey volunteers as tribute, this time Ben needs a teacher, video games - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-27
Updated: 2020-01-27
Packaged: 2021-02-27 13:55:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,893
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22438324
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/infrarad/pseuds/infrarad
Summary: Rey has been babysitting for divorced dad Ben Solo for a while. When he comes home late from work one night and finds her playing his son's favorite game, she offers to teach him.
Relationships: Rey/Ben Solo | Kylo Ren, William McTavish/Rey (Star Wars)
Comments: 30
Kudos: 395





	workin' on my fortnite moves

**Author's Note:**

> Gah you guys, I started writing this after Adam's SNL Fortnite sketch aired in September 2018. I finally came back to it, reinvigorated by his appearance on SNL this weekend (and slightly frustrated by the slow burn of Dutch Angle xD). So... have a Fortnite fic, fourteen months late. ;)
> 
> ETA: I have never played Fortnite in my life. I did more research for this smutty little one-shot than JJ or CT apparently did for TROS. -_-

__

_Mr. Solo - 5:14 p.m.  
_ _Rey, I’m so sorry but I’m going to be home late. Can you stay with Miles until I get there?_

_Me - 5:15 p.m.  
_ _sure no problem when do you think you’ll be back?_

_Mr. Solo - 5:18 p.m.  
_ _You’re a lifesaver. Thank you. I’m not sure. The whole company mailing list got hit by a phishing scam and so far over four hundred people have replied-all._

_Me - 5:19 p.m.  
_ _lmfao wtf_

_Me - 5:19 p.m.  
_ _is this real life_

_Me - 5:20 p.m.  
_ _who does that_

_Mr. Solo - 5:24 p.m.  
_ _Everyone apparently._

_Mr. Solo - 6:03 p.m.  
_ _It’s looking like this is going to take a while. I’m going to have to suspend email delivery._

_Me - 6:04 p.m.  
_ _waaaaaat_

_Mr. Solo - 6:09 p.m.  
_ _Is that okay? I’m so sorry, let me know if I need to get Phas over there. I know it’s Friday night, you probably have plans that don’t involve listening to an eleven-year-old talk ad nauseum about the latest Magic the Gathering release…._

_Me - 6:10 p.m.  
_ _what no lol are you kidding_

_Me - 6:10 p.m.  
_ _I never have plans on Friday night_

_Me - 6:11 p.m.  
_ _I meant waaaaat like I didn’t even know you could suspend email delivery for the entire company_

_Me - 6:11 p.m.  
_ _phenomenal cosmic powerrrr_

_Mr. Solo - 6:13 p.m.  
_ _Oh. Ha. So you’re okay with staying? I might not be home for a few hours still._

_Me - 6:14 p.m.  
_ _not a problem we’re busting out the d20s as we speak_

_Mr. Solo - 6:15 p.m.  
_ _I owe you, Johnson. Also was that an Aladdin reference…?_

_Me - 6:15 p.m.  
_ _He can be taught!_

*

It’s past ten by the time Rey sees the beams of the headlights wash over the back wall of the den, signalling that Ben has finally gotten home. She’s in the middle of a maneuver and maybe that’s the reason she doesn’t shut down the game right away. Certainly it isn’t because she wants him to see how comfortable she’s made herself here in his house, among his things.

She’s been babysitting Miles regularly for the last couple of months, ever since she came back from college. She’d worked for Ben Solo off and on for several years, since right after his divorce, when she was a senior in high school, but once he quit freelancing as a UI designer and got hired on by the big VA loan company in town, he’s needed a lot more. Someone to stay with Miles during the day, make sure the kid gets three square meals and gets him to his swim lessons and orthodontist appointments. Rey was the obvious choice: he knows her, and Miles likes her as much as any eleven-year-old boy likes a pretty twenty-two-year-old girl who fixes cars for fun and can throw a mean curveball. 

And Rey -- well, Rey likes Ben.

She’s been practically living at his house during the weeks Ben has Miles, after all: five days during the on-weeks, and on Wednesday afternoons during the off-week per the custody arrangement. She does some cleaning -- Ben is pretty tidy for a divorcee but he’s a single parent now who works full-time and Rey gets it: there just aren’t enough hours in the day. She finds herself cooking up big one-pot meals at the end of every on-week, prepping and freezing dishes he can easily heat up for himself when she and Miles aren’t there, because she knows otherwise he lives on frozen pizza and sad wilted containers of Chinese takeout, and she has a hard time not thinking about that and it makes her feel all twitchy and depressed.

She knows he can take care of himself, but there’s something about leaving on Friday evening, knowing he’s going to spend the next week alone, that compels her to _feed_ him. It’s why she’s not particularly anxious to dash out the door when he finally trudges in four hours later than planned.

She doesn’t call out hello, not wanting to wake up Miles, who is sleeping upstairs. Instead she listens to him tossing his keys on the console and kicking off his shoes in the front room. As absorbed as she is in her game, she hears every creak of the floorboards as he makes his way to the den.

“Rey?”

“Hey,” she says, not yet turning around. “Hang on, lemme just…” 

She flings herself out from behind her shelter and immediately gets sniped by a bush camper. She tosses the controller on the couch and gets up on her knees, turning on the cushions to face him where he stands in the doorway to the den. He’s silhouetted in the light from the front room.

“Welcome home,” she says. “How was your day?” She stretches like a cat, arms up above her head and groaning softly. Three hours is too many hours to be glued to the screen like that, ugh.

She hears him clear his throat a little and then move into the room until he was illuminated by the blue glow of the TV screen. “Long,” he sighs. “I’m sorry I’m so late. I ended up having to suspend email delivery service for two hours.”

“Yiiiikes, yeah, how did you resolve the Reply-Allpocalypse?”

He snorts. “Well, by the time I suspended service, replies to the phishing scam generated over a million emails, most of them saying something along the lines of ‘this is a scam’ and ‘stop hitting reply-all, you noobs.’”

“ _Classic._ What, does First Order employ college freshmen exclusively…?”

“I blame the annual mandatory IT safety training. The due date for that was just last week; seems like everybody was eager to prove they can recognize a phishing scam when they see one now. Anyway.” 

He runs his hand through his hair and Rey bites her lip. Because Ben Solo is a _snack_ even in his stupid pink gingham shirt and Old Navy jeans, even clearly worn out by a fifteen-hour day. Even when his whole look screams “tired dad barely hanging onto his final shreds of dignity.” There’s definitely more gray in his hair than there was a year ago, but his face is still youthful and unlined, his mouth full and plush, and beneath that badly-fitting shirt she _knows_ he’s built like a brick house. 

“So how was Miles today?” he asks, leaning on the CD cabinet against the wall, one hand in his pocket.

“He was good,” says Rey, thinking about that one morning he spilled a whole travel mug of hot coffee on himself on his way out the door, and in the ensuing flurry of cursing and disrobing, Rey had gotten an _eyeful_ that was indelibly marked on her brain. _Get a grip, Johnson._ “I took him to his swim lesson at ten, and we played in the park for a while after that, and in the afternoon we worked on his thousand cranes. He’s up to five hundred and forty eight now.”

He blinks like he isn’t really tracking the conversation but his smile is earnest. “Sounds great. Did you, what did you do for dinner?”

“I made pasta. There are leftovers in the fridge.” She pauses. He’s hovering oddly at the end of the couch. Ben isn’t the smoothest person she’s met, but that doesn’t mean he’s habitually awkward, just reluctant to spend energy on people when he could be doing… well, anything else. “Uh. Do you want me to heat some up for you before I leave?”

“Huh? Oh. God, no. Sorry, I’m being a space cadet, I’m just… it’s been a long day. Were you just playing Fortnite?”

She blinks. “Oh yeah! Don’t worry though, I only let Miles play for an hour today, that was his only screen time, and I waited until after he went to bed to play a few games myself.”

He makes a little humming sound. “Yeah, Miles is hooked on that game. Uhh, apparently Hux plays with him a lot.” 

His voice has gotten quiet and Rey frowns. Hux is the British ex-pat who bought out the tech startup Ben’s ex had been working at. A few months later Ben discovered they were sleeping together. Rey is pretty sure Ben’s extra high level of stress recently is due to the fact that Phasma and Hux got engaged in the spring, cementing the guy’s place in Ben’s life for the foreseeable future. 

“You don’t play with him?” Rey asks.

Ben shoves his other hand in his pocket too, causing his shoulders to hunch. “No, I’ve never.”

“You should! It’d be a good bonding experience. Unless….”

“Yeah, I don’t know how,” he says, laughing a little, but it’s not a happy laugh. “I never played video games…? The only reason we have them in the house is because of Phas.”

“Well.” Rey regards him thoughtfully. “I could show you how to play. If you want.”

He blinks at her. “You -- you think?” His voice actually _cracks,_ oh my god; Rey stuffs her hands between her thighs and clenches.

“Sure, I mean, if you’re not too tired.”

“Oh -- I’m -- you mean now? Are _you_ tired? I can take you home, if you want -- if you don’t have other plans --”

She definitely didn’t have other plans. 

Not ones that involved going home, anyway.

“No, come sit down,” she says, patting the couch cushion beside her, and he complies. He’s so big that even though there’s a respectable space between them, it feels like he’s completely consumed her personal bubble. She’s… really okay with that.

“Okay so here’s your headset,” she says, handing it to him. “You need to be able to hear footsteps and stuff around you in the game, it helps you avoid getting sneaked up on.” He struggles with the headset, gets it adjusted to fit his larger head, and then he’s ready. Rey passes him the controller.

She gets him set up to play solo and instructs him not to immediately jump off the bus, and then she settles in to watch.

*

“I can’t -- what’s going on? Which character am I?”

“You’re the blond guy.”

“Oh.” 

“So just -- open that cache there and get your weapon.”

“I’m trying.” 

Rey watches as the blond avatar runs in place against a brick wall.

“Look -- no. No, that’s not --” Rey interrupts herself with a groan and scrubs her face with her hand. “Dude, the enemy is in the other direction.” It’s his third try and he still hasn’t gotten the hang of even the most basic movement mechanics yet, and Rey is beginning to think she’s bitten off more than she can chew.

“I can’t figure out how to -- how do I turn around??” Ben is cradling the controller in his right hand, controlling the left stick with _three fingers_ like he’s stirring a goddamn spoon in his coffee.

Rey can almost feel her soul leaving her body. Partly because his hands are so huge that they _dwarf_ the controller. At her wits’ end, she reaches over and physically adjusts his grip, feeling a little… well, manipulative as she manipulates his fingers. “Look, use your thumb. Yeah. Like that.” She literally can’t wrap her hands around his, they’re so big, but she does her best to get his hands comfortably around the controller and show him how to access all the buttons without driving her insane.

“There now. Comfy?” she asks once she finally--reluctantly--lets him go.

He clears his throat into his sleeve. “Uhh sure. Yeah this is definitely better.” He thumbs the right stick haphazardly. “So what do I do now?”

“Step one, like… stop doing that. No. Press Y. … No, you’re pressing A. Press _Y._ Yup. Still not Y. Oh, look at that, You’re dancing. Good job.” 

“I can _dance_ in this game _?”_ he says distractedly.

“It’s called an emote, it’s just -- “ Rey starts to laugh helplessly. “Jesus, Ben. Do you even know what buttons are _on_ this thing?”

“Hey, don’t mock the elderly,” he complains, tearing his eyes from the screen for a moment to shoot her a Look. In that split second of inattention, he manages to stumble out of cover and someone gets him with a grenade.

“Shit,” he complains, and then gasps a little. “Sorry.”

Rey lets out a soft peal of laughter. With the headset on, his voice is a little too loud, and it’s so ridiculous, and _so_ endearing, she’s finding it impossible to keep her hands off him. Before she can think better of it she’s rearing up against him and knocking the headset off his head. 

“Hey, come on, now -- “

For a split second her hand is in his hair and it’s _just_ as thick and springy as she thought it would be, but with a completely unexpected softness that makes it really difficult not to just… curl her fingers into his scalp and keep them there a while.

“Forget about the headset for a sec,” she says, dropping back down and giving him a friendly thump on the shoulder. She’s sitting on the cushions next to him with her legs curled up under her, and her hand, she realizes, is taking up residence on his shoulder and she’s just going to let it. She’s pretty happy like this, practically nestled into his side. He’s just… so _big._

She advises him to respawn and try again. He does, and dies almost immediately. This happens… three or four more times.

“It’s okay, in Fortnite you kinda die a lot,” she encourages. “You just have to get used to it. Think of it as a learning experience. Here, wait -- don’t go back to the lobby this time. You have the option to watch the person who killed you -- like that. See?” She nods at the TV where the guy who last murdered Ben is rampaging across the map, destruction and mayhem in his wake.

“Well, that’s morbid.”

“I guess? But now you get a chance to watch somebody else who is, you know, a more seasoned player do his thing.”

Ben lets out a bark of laughter. “‘A more seasoned player.’ Very diplomatic.”

“I spend my days with an eleven-year-old boy. Diplomacy is a valuable skill.”

“Oh, is _that_ your secret to bending him to your every whim?”

Rey grins. “Does he bend to my every whim? That’s news to me.”

“Rey. Like two weeks ago he was packing up to go to his mom’s and he threw a tantrum for the first time in months because he wanted _you_ to take him to the orthodontist instead of Phasma.”

Rey… doesn’t know how to respond to that. 

She blinks, this time because tears are suddenly springing to her eyes. She’s told Ben a bit about her childhood, about hopping from one foster home to the next -- about how she doesn’t even know her actual birthday -- but she doesn’t know if he realizes that consequently the idea of being missed is fucking _narcoti_ c to her. Because it means that someone else has carved a place out in their lives just for her, and even if it’s a buck-toothed eleven-year-old kid, that’s really… all she’s ever wanted.

And she doesn’t know how to tell him this, doesn’t trust herself to say that she misses Miles too when he’s away at his mother’s, that she misses _Ben._ She already has to restrain herself from texting him on the daily during the off-weeks. 

So she resorts to brisk humor to deflect the emotional impact.

“That’s because I take him for milkshakes afterward,” she says. “It’s a cheap trick. Feel free to pass that on to Phasma if it makes your life easier.”

“I’m serious,” Ben says, though he’s laughing a little bit. “He’s this close to writing his very first love poem and dedicating it to you.”

Rey sucks in her breath and disguises it by swiftly crossing her arms. “You, Ben Solo, are clearly delirious with exhaustion. I think it’s _high_ time you went to bed.” She says it in her best, no-nonsense babysitter voice and punctuates it by grabbing the controller from him, intending to toss it in the same general direction that the headset went. But he’s too quick for her and he pounces.

She manages not to shriek as she flops backward, straining to keep the controller out of his grasp. He follows her and for a second they’re wrestling on the couch, a tangle of limbs, and he’s _so fucking huge_ and everything in Rey is sparking with electricity. “C’mon, just one more gaaaaame,” he whines, perfectly imitating his son while he’s reaching for the controller she’s dangling over the opposite arm of the couch.

“It is _way_ past your bedtime, mister!” Rey gasps, writhing to keep the controller out of reach. She arches her back, pressing her breasts up against the hard planes of his chest.

“You -- oof! -- little brat, you’ll be sorry,” he pants, his voice filled with promise that makes Rey want to wrap her legs around him and _buck._

“Okay I’m confused,” she says, wriggling down beneath him and laughing, “am I your babysitter in this scenario or are you -- uh….” 

Rey trails off abruptly.

Because he’s holding himself above her, frozen quite still with his hand braced on the arm of the couch above her head and his hips between her legs, and he’s so big that her face is level with his chest, and she’s surrounded by the musky and slightly sour smell of his skin that makes her want to press her nose into the collar of his shirt, and the warmth of his entire body sort of envelops her, and against her inner thigh he’s _distinctly_ hard.

And huge.

At the same time that something inside her kind of _grinds --_ terrifyingly, like the clutch on her old car whenever she tried to shift into third -- Ben lifts himself off of her and retreats to the end of the couch.

His ears are bright pink where they peek out of his hair. Rey’s heart is thundering inside her chest and there’s a rushing in her ears.

“It’s okay,” she hears herself say as she curls up into a sitting position.

He curses softly through a sigh. His hand rakes through his hair and it feels like buttons are bursting off her heart. He still won’t look at her. “No, it’s not, it’s -- I should get you home. Or --”

“Ben,” she tries, but he’s babbling.

“--you rode your bike here, though, right? But it’s late, I don’t want you riding so late at night --”

He stops dead as she gently lifts up and slides a leg over him, seating herself on his thighs.

“F _fffuck_ ,” he hisses sharply, the way Rey finds herself doing when she catches a headline in her Twitter feed these days. Like the world’s ending in slow motion. “Rey. Fuck.”

 _Please,_ she thinks, giddy, actually dizzy with excitement. She brings her hands up to brace herself against his chest and he actually gasps. She’s straddling his thighs, still much too far away from his dick where it’s tenting his jeans in what must be a painful display of need, but she feels his massive chest jerk to expand against her. For the first time she lets herself acknowledge the fact that she is _dripping_ wet inside her leggings.

He hasn't looked at her since he climbed off her, not even when he said her name. Behind his tortoise-shell glasses his eyes are clenched shut. His mouth is _incredibly_ pink.

He doesn’t open his eyes when she gently removes his glasses, but she feels him shudder with a long exhale. When she brings her hands up to either side of his face, he freezes. And when she strokes his hair back from his temples, tracing her fingers around his ears, his eyes tighten.

“Please, Ben.” Her voice is low and throaty, just above a whisper, and she can hear her own neediness. So even as his eyes fly open, she leans forward and lays a soft, almost chaste kiss on his mouth.

His lips are -- just as plush as they looked, and when they fall open in a gasp, she savors the wetness there. She takes her time with him, sipping at his mouth, testing the ripeness of his lips between hers. His mouth opens up slowly beneath hers, and he doesn’t try to chase her tongue into her mouth, or devour her; he feels like a clock spring, slowly tightening under her. Once, many years ago, she wound a foster mom’s antique, heirloom mantle clock backwards -- petty revenge for some forgotten injury. All the tension in the spring had released at once and the spinning of the clock key battered her fingers before she could yank them away. She has the same sense of elated dread in her now as she winds up Ben with teasing flicks of her tongue, and she hasn’t decided yet if she’ll try to get him to break.

Fantasizing about something for months isn’t exactly the same as _planning_.

By the time she brings herself to pull back, eyes fixed on his red mouth, they’re both panting hard. Her palms are pressed against his chest, thumbs rubbing against his pebbled nipples through the gingham of his shirt. He’s actually shivering under her, and when she presses one thumb against his nipple, _hard,_ he moans. It’s the most sinful sound she thinks she’s ever heard.

“I’ve been wanting to kiss you for months,” she tells him.

He groans and somehow his huge hand is around the back of her neck and he’s dragging her down and _licking_ into her mouth.

Her entire body feels suddenly electric in a way that has very little to do with the heat and wet of his mouth on her and more to do with what it means. _He wants her._ Maybe as much as she wants him. She can hear her blood pounding in her ears, feels it throbbing between her legs. 

“C’mon Ben,” she slurs into his mouth, “ _come on_ .” And she _gasps_ as his hands tighten in her hair and tilt her head back, taking control of the kiss.

His mouth is huge. Like the rest of him. He knows not to try to swallow her up or choke her with his tongue, but still he moves against her fitfully, like he’s on the edge of losing it -- pressing forward, hands clenching painfully in her hair, and then pulling back to gasp and let her suck her way down his throat, leaving a trail of little red marks.

“Jesus,” she hears him mutter. His voice is rough, raspy, until she noses into his hair and latches onto his earlobe and _sucks._ He bucks up into her and whines.

Rey's mouth is hot around the flesh of his earlobe but all her attention is on the hard ridge suddenly flush against her heat. Ben is fidgeting, not quite rutting against her, but she feels his need for more, and his unwillingness to take it. 

That's fine by Rey. 

She shuffles forward so she's pressed tight against him and then she grinds her hips against his. He groans loudly and bucks beneath her. The way his cock is trapped between them, swollen stiff in his jeans, can't be comfortable. 

She releases his earlobe and latches onto his mouth instead, drinks in his gasps as she rolls her hips up and down his length. His kisses become wet and sloppy, his mouth as loose as his hands are tight around her waist. 

Her fingers find the buttons on his shirt and start working them free. The heat of his chest radiates through the white undershirt beneath. He only reacts when she pulls away from the kiss, planning to push his shirt from his shoulders.

“Rey. Sweetheart, please.”

She gasps at the thrill that shoots through her at the endearment, and she looks up into his face. Her hands are clenched in his shirt, braced against his shoulders, and his long, usually pale face is florid with desire.

“Wow,” she breathes, unable to help it. He’s just so goddamn _pretty._

“Is this weird? This is weird isn’t it?” he says all in a rush. 

“Fuck no,” she says, momentarily distracted from the glossy pink of his mouth. “It’s not -- unless you think --”

“I’m just -- you’re so young.” She almost melts as his hand goes up to his face, grasping in a habitual movement to adjust glasses she already removed. 

She blinks at him. “Dude, I’m twenty-two.”

“Young enough to say _dude_ with no sense of irony.”

“Excuse you, I happen to think I have a very well-developed sense of irony, Mister Solo.”

His big hand is warm on her side as it travels fitfully up and down. “I’ve been married and -- and divorced. I have a son, Rey.” 

“Oh, is that why I’ve been spending so much time over here? I forgot,” says Rey, but there’s no bite to her sarcasm. She’s distracted, tracing his mouth with a finger. His lips are pillowy, inflamed by her kisses, and now that she’s gotten to touch them she doesn’t ever want to stop _._

“Don’t be a brat,” Ben says hoarsely.

“Make me.”

“You’re _really_ not helping your case.”

“Then you'd better teach me a lesson.” Unable to resist the temptation any longer, her index and middle fingers find their way into his mouth then, past his lips and teeth to stroke the springy, mobile muscle of his tongue.

He growls, and she feels the vibration in her fingers followed briefly by the bite of his teeth. His lips -- those soft, infinitely plush lips -- wrap around her flesh and suck until she whimpers, and he pulls off with a wet pop. 

“You need a teacher, all right,” he growls, and suddenly his arms are around her and he’s twisting and rolling them over. She's flat on her back now, and he's crouching over her, trapping her in a cage of his arms and legs. 

"Oh, we’re back where we started,” she says breathlessly.

If she thought he was big before, it was nothing compared to how he felt now. Her entire world was distilled to nothing but his presence. He surrounded her completely, with his legs and chest and shoulders and hair, his arms bracketing her body, his shirt falling open around her, filling her up with the heat and spice of his scent. He’s trapped her so she can’t get her legs around his waist, so instead she snakes her hands up under his white t-shirt. His muscles ripple and twitch beneath her palms. When she finds his nipple with her thumb -- hard and _hot_ without the barrier of his shirt between them -- his whole body jerks in response, and he’s on her, then, his mouth open and wet against hers, now racing down her neck. 

This is it, she thinks. She’s gonna _fuck Ben Solo._

He’s sucking marks into her neck, nibbling at the skin over her collarbone while she squirms and gasps beneath him. He’s still bracketing her in with his limbs, which is intolerable; she wants to wrap herself around him like she’s climbing a goddamn tree. She starts pushing at his chest and he pulls back immediately, but she doesn’t give him time to be flooded with second thoughts. She follows him, pushing at him until he reorganizes his legs so he’s sitting again and she’s straddling his lap.

“Off,” she says, pushing at his open shirt. She starts rucking up his undershirt before he’s even struggled his way out of his top layer.

“Patience, young padawan,” he says through the t-shirt. She ignores him and by the time he’s bare, she’s halfway out of her own top. She can tell the moment he sees her because he freezes beneath her. She flings away her top and puts her hands on her hips, soaking up him and his reaction.

“You can touch,” she says.

His eyes -- laser-focused as they examined her tan skin and freckled breasts -- dart up to meet hers, and then his hands are sweeping up her bare sides, erecting swathes of goosebumps in their wake. He cups her breasts, rubbing thumbs over them through the floral-print cotton of her bra. His hands completely dwarf them as he worries her nipples, relishing the way they tighten under his thumbs, and for a moment she lets her eyes flutter closed, focusing on the sweet, hot delight of his touch.

“Ben,” she whispers.

“Is this okay?”

“It’s more than okay,” she gasps. And when he looks up at her she reaches around to unclasp her bra, glad when he helps her brush the straps down her shoulders.

He pulls her close, pressing his forehead to hers as he looks down between them at her bare tits, all white and pink, sprinkled with freckles and flushed beneath her collarbones. He draws his massive hand down between her breasts, and then it glides up again to cover one of them completely. His thumb feels so much better on her bare skin.

And his mouth feels even better. She gasps out loud the moment his lips find her nipple, and then he’s flicking his tongue over it, sucking it, and then somehow he’s holding her _entire breast_ in his mouth, stroking his tongue firmly against the underside, and she keens and tries not to break into a loud wail.

“Holy shit, Ben,” she says breathlessly, and he groans in response before switching his attention to her other breast. His hands find her ass and clench, _pull,_ and she whimpers into his hair.

“You have the prettiest little tits, Rey.”

“They’re little.”

“Fuck, they’re perfect, I can’t even --” He sucks down a breath of air and exhales hot over her breast, then sucks her nipple into his mouth again. Rolls the nipple on his tongue so she gasps and shudders, and then he releases it with a pop. “You have no idea. No idea.”

She doesn’t know if he can feel her moisture but certainly he can feel the heat radiating from her pussy as she grinds and rocks against him. He’s so hard, and the placket of his zipper is perfectly positioned, and she’s halfway to getting off on him like this, with his mouth on her tits and his hands mauling her ass through her leggings. She’s whimpering, pleading with him, and then he’s pulling away from her, all wild-haired and wild-eyed and red-mouthed.

"Tell me what you need,” he hisses.

“Get out of those jeans,” she says, and then she’s hopping to her feet and shimmying out of her leggings, rolling her panties down with them. He doesn’t take his eyes off her -- just lifts his hip to shuck his jeans and black briefs. When his cock springs free, Rey stills. Stares.

“...Rey?”

She becomes aware she’s staring. She clears her throat. “I don’t know if that’s gonna fit,” she says dazedly.

Concern passes over his face. “Are… do you want to stop? I can --”

“God, no,” she says with a bewildered laugh. “I was being facetious. I… think.” She comes toward him, transfixed by the sight of his cock. It’s bigger than any of her toys. Bigger than her highschool boyfriend’s by far. As she watches, it twitches once, the dark glans bobbing against his stomach.

There’s a long silence as she takes him in. His broad chest, his massive shoulders, his meaty legs. The flush on his cheeks that match his red cock. The way his hair falls around his face as he ducks his chin slightly. He can’t seem to take his eyes off her either, though the way he bites his lip belies his anxiety.

“Rey. Get up here. C’mon.”

She comes to stand between his legs. His hands find her hips and pull her up, and she straddles him obligingly, but he’s urging her upwards still. “No -- on your feet.”

With charming awkwardness he guides her up so she’s standing astride him, heels deep in the couch cushions, and she’s giggling a little at the absurdity of the position and with self-consciousness. It’s not her best angle, towering over him like this, but he’s looking up at her like she’s myth made flesh.

“You’re… beyond beautiful, Rey,” he murmurs. She feels it low in her belly.

“Oh, Ben.”

His eyes flutter shut and he leans forward, presses his face against her soft mound, the dark hair hiding her slit. At first he just noses into the crease of her thigh, inhales like she’s some fleshy, indolic bloom. His hands stroke from her hips up to her waist, then to measure the span of her ribcage, and then up and over her breasts -- lifting them from beneath, sliding her nipples between his fingers, teasing and pulling. She moans with it, hips unconsciously thrusting against his face.

Then his mouth is stroking, searching, pressing soft kisses to her mound. His tongue slides out and the heat of it against her makes her shudder. She exhales a shaky breath that catches in her throat as he stiffens his tongue and gently slides through her.

She’s so wet she can _hear_ her labia part around his tongue. A moan escapes her, louder than she meant, and he answers with a groan that goes straight through her cunt. Without prompting she widens her stance, balancing herself against his shoulders; his massive hands smooth over her belly and down to frame her mound. He parts her with his thumbs, holds her lips open so he can drag his broad velvet tongue against her vulva, tracing a path from her entrance to her clit. At the first pass of his tongue over that little bundle of nerves, her hands leap to his hair, clenching as she bucks against him.

“S-sorry,” she bites out, trying to relax, but one of his hands comes up to curl around her hand and press it against his scalp, indicating with almost bruising strength that he _wants_ her to use him.

“Taste so fucking good,” he grunts, and for a little while, neither of them speak. His tongue is firm and pointed here, and broad and wet there, and his lips latch around her labia one at a time, sucking and tugging and producing the most obscene wet noises that Rey thinks she’s ever heard. The only thing more filthy is the occasional muffled moan that escapes him.

And then he’s circling her clit with his tongue, flicking and flitting over it lightly, and she feels the tension cranking up behind and just above her pubic bone. Her legs begin to shake with each pass of his tongue over her clit, until she’s practically vibrating; she braces her hands against his shoulders again, trying to keep herself upright.

She’s gasping audibly now with each flick and kitten lick of his tongue. Her legs start to give out, but then he seizes her with one sturdy forearm around her thighs, just under her ass, holding her tight against his face and letting her grind and shudder against him.

“More,” she whimpers. “Please, Ben, I’m -- ngh -- so _close._ ”

His right hand gropes along her thigh and then he’s pulling his face away. She keens at the loss of pressure but then she feels it -- a finger pressing against her entrance.

“Rey -- can I --”

“ _Fuck_ , Ben, please,” she whines.

He doesn’t make her beg. He runs his broad index finger around her entrance, soaking up her slick, and then he’s pressing in.

Rey goes still. Ben, too, is holding his breath, his lower lip caught between his teeth as he penetrates her. His face is shining with her wetness. He doesn’t seem to mind. His attention is focused solely on the sight of his finger disappearing one knuckle at a time into her cunt.

“Another,” she whispers, and his eyes dart up to meet hers. Instead of responding, he pumps her a couple of times, long and slow, before adding his middle finger. He watches her the whole time, and once both of his fingers are fully seated in her, he seems to be satisfied that she’s taking him without discomfort.

“Okay,” he says with a shudder, and then he crooks his fingers just _so --_ and then he’s hooked her from inside by her fucking _pubic bone_ and tugs her flush against his face.

Rey claps a hand against her mouth and screws her eyes shut. He latches onto her clit with his absurdly plush mouth and _sucks,_ tongue flicking the hard little bud while his two fingers curl into her over and over, plunging against something spongy and swollen inside.

Rey feels like -- well -- it’s not like anything she’s ever felt before. She’s fooled around before, of course; she’s not technically a virgin. But she has never -- no one has ever -- 

Well, this level of arousal goes so far beyond anything she’s ever felt that for an instant she wonders if this is _normal._

When she comes, it’s with a gush of slick and contractions so powerful that she doubles over. Her legs give out entirely, but his left forearm clenches around her thighs, holding her up, and his right hand never stops curling into her, pulsing and pressing against that spot deep inside. His tongue presses flat against her clit, undulating rhythmically in time with his curling fingers as she rides out the strongest orgasm of her life.

By the time he pulls his fingers out of her, she’s still shaking with aftershocks. He lets her sag against him, supports her as she slowly slides down into his lap. Between them, his cock stands straight up, coxcomb-red and shivering with his every heartbeat.

“You okay?” he murmurs, and her breath hitches _._ She can’t help it. She thinks she may actually be crying a little bit, and when she falls forward to press her face into his shoulder, she can feel the tears smear against her cheek.

“So much better than okay,” she says into his skin. She leans back again, weight on his thighs. The look on his face is pure wonder, and she doesn’t know how it starts, but suddenly they’re both giggling.

She’s never heard Ben laugh like this. Tender, amazed -- _sweet,_ as if his face isn’t still glistening with her cum. She presses her forehead against his. He catches her hands as they stroke down his chest, and for a moment he holds her there like that as they both catch their breath. 

Somehow, she knows that if she decided to stop it here, he’d let her. If she hopped off his lap and said _Thanks, Mr. Solo_ and wriggled back into her leggings and shirt, he’d let her go. Might even offer to drive her home. He’d probably apologize for keeping her out late.

But she has no intention of letting any of those things happen.

She finds his mouth with hers. She’s not gonna lie… it’s a little gross at first, that strong musky gloss on his lips, knowing it’s hers. But in a minute she doesn’t care. He certainly didn’t seem to. He licks into her open mouth, hot tongue tracing the ridges of her palate, the porcelain of her teeth, thrusting recklessly against her own tongue. She nips at his full lower lip and then kisses her way along his jaw to his throat, taking a detour to lick down the sharp angle of his adam’s apple before traveling up to his ear. She sucks his earlobe into her mouth and he thrusts up against her with a gasp.

“I’m on the pill,” she whispers to him. “And -- and I’m clean.”

He growls low in his throat. “Are you sure? I mean not that you’re clean,” he stammers, somehow turning even redder, “but -- but that you want this.”

She sets her teeth gently in his earlobe and tugs. He’s thrusting mindlessly up against her now, the head of his cock slipping and sliding over her belly. She presses into him so it’s trapped between them, giving him some friction to rut into. “You’re the first person I’ve let get this far in years. I want this.” She grinds against him. “I want _you_. I _have_ _been wanting_ you.”

He buries her face in her neck and what he says is muffled but it sounds a little like _God, me too._

She settles back on his thighs, finds her stomach is streaked with shiny trails of his precome. She drags her palm through it, and then through her own wetness as well, which makes his breath hiss out between his teeth. When her hand finds his cock, he jerks his hips up before stiffening and reining himself back. He sinks his teeth into his lower lip so hard she worries he might draw blood.

His cock is indeed huge -- it certainly hasn’t gotten smaller in the last fifteen minutes. He feels almost painfully hard in her hand. She traces her fingers over him, savoring the delicate, satiny flesh, the pretty red flush, the tracery of veins visible beneath the skin. She can feel him pulsing in her hand. She trails her fingers down to his balls, which are drawn up tight beneath his cock.

A grunt stutters out of him. “I want…” he begins.

She tugs gently at one of his balls, relishing the way he arches beneath her. “What? Tell me.”

“Wanna come inside you,” he says on a sigh. His hands run up her thighs, to her hips, to clench on her ass. “Rey.”

She lets him haul her forward. Positions him at her entrance. Swipes him between her lips a couple of times to coat him.

“I want that too,” she whispers as she starts to sink down on him.

His eyes glaze over. She can tell it’s taking a monumental effort not to surge into her all at once; his grip on her waist is painfully tight but he’s letting her dictate the way this goes. And -- well, she doesn’t feel like making him wait. She feels so _tender_ toward him -- she wants to take care of him. Wants to give him this release, give him this claim on her body. Maybe it’s a little like her urge to feed him. Maybe it’s a little fucked up. But in that moment Rey doesn’t care. She can _give_ to him, and she _wants_ to.

It takes a couple of minutes, taking him stroke by stroke, a little bit at a time, until she’s seated on him. She has never felt so fucking full in her life. His face is _so_ red, and she knows hers is, too. She was there just a little while ago, glassy-eyed and dazed while he watched her break apart. Now she’s looking at him like she could consume him with her eyes, absorbing every detail -- every twitch, every hitch of his breath, every grunt he holds back between compressed lips.

She leans forward and plies his mouth open with hers. He follows her hips with his, thrusting --

“God, you’re so --” He breaks off, tearing his mouth away from hers and sinking his teeth into her shoulder. “So fucking wet.”

“Wet for you,” she says. She clenches around him and he moans.

“I can’t…” He wipes his mouth against her shoulder, _whimpers_ into her neck. His arms wrap around her and crush her to his chest.

“Then don’t,” she says breathlessly. “Fuck me, Ben.”

He slides down the couch cushions, presses his face into her tits, and holds her still, wide open over him, her ass in the air, and he starts fucking up into her in earnest. His mouth opens over her nipple, latches on and starts to suck, and his breath comes in hot blasts over her sternum. His hips slap up into hers and she figures out his rhythm and begins to move with him, clenching around him every time he retreats. It feels -- there’s no word to describe it. Just that every time he withdraws, all she can think about is how good the next thrust will feel.

And it does. Incredibly, she feels another orgasm building, the tension coiling tight in her belly, flushing through her thighs and down even to her toes. Inside, he feels even _bigger,_ but it doesn’t cause her any discomfort, not even when she slips into an angle that allows his cock to rock up against her cervix over and over. It probably will hurt in the morning, but right now it just intensifies the pleasure, the feeling of being taken to her absolute limit.

This time she’s better positioned to hold herself up, which is fortunate because Ben is in no state to support her now. He’s moaning with every breath and it almost sounds like he’s sobbing. She starts to murmur soft soothing nonsense into his hair. Telling him how well he fills her, entreating him to use her. To fuck her as he likes. Her mouth finds his ear and as she licks the shell of it, he starts to lose his rhythm.

“Ben, come inside me Ben, come inside me,” she chants softly, her voice breaking with her own arousal.

And when he finally does, going rigid beneath her, buried to the hilt, she feels the hot spill of his cum, every spurt as he fills her up. It’s just enough to set her off again and she quakes around him, sparks bursting behind her eyelids.

It’s a long while before he finally releases his breath on a long, quivering groan. She’s still trembling with aftershocks, little splashes of pleasure washing through her limbs. It’s electric. She has never felt so sated. So… so _loved._

He runs his hands down her back, all the way to her ass and back up again. Sweeping away goosebumps, leaving new ones in their wake. She shivers against him, but she’s not cold, not yet. His body is like a furnace. A sticky one.

She presses her face into the crook of his shoulder, almost into his armpit, and inhales slow and deep. Musk. Cumin-like sweat. A healthy unwashed body. “You smell incredible.”

He shakes with what she realizes is laughter. “Are you sniffing my pit?” he says, voice low and warm and full of affection.

“Well, your crotch is too far away,” she murmurs, and he laughs harder, flexing deep inside her even as he’s beginning to soften.

“Rey, you… look at me.”

She pulls back and finds him just… glowing. His hair is a mess, there’s still traces of her own cum on his jaw, his eyes are a little squinty and unfocused without his glasses, but -- she has never seen him this happy.

This _loving._

“I cannot… begin to tell you,” he says, and then stops. Cups her face in one of his massive hands. She nuzzles into it instinctively, savoring even the dampness of his palm. He takes a breath. “You….”

He can’t seem to form complete sentences.

She knows the feeling.

She leans forward. Kisses him, eyes fluttering shut. Inside her, his cock twitches again and she responds by tightening around it.

His eyes are very bright when she pulls back.

“Take me to bed,” she whispers. “And we can tell each other in the morning.”

And he does.

And they do.

**Author's Note:**

> Retweet the moodboard and link [here](https://twitter.com/infraarad/status/1221853184764694528?s=20) and hit that follow button! And don't forget to comment <3


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